


To Speak In Love

by Spones-in-my-bones (KoruLunan)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Cadets, Caretaking, Cheesy, College, Hand Touching, M/M, Matchmaking, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Pining, Starfleet Academy, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, matchmaker Jim, unidentifiable feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoruLunan/pseuds/Spones-in-my-bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While alone for winter break, Spock receives a curious gift from someone he least expected. Later on, when locked out of his apartment by his heavily inebriated roommate, who else should show up to help but his neighbor, Leonard McCoy?</p><p>Starfleet Academy AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Simple Gift

For the first time this season, the air was cold and bitter. The fresh chill nipped at whatever flesh lay uncovered, forcing those who needed to venture out into the weather to either bundle up well or return with frigid, stinging cheeks. Among the scattered shows of twinned red blushes sat a single, solitary pair of greened spots, which outwardly seemed to match the (literally) cold blooded and icy personality of their owner. Warm breath blew into still chilled wool gloves as they rubbed together to produce an additional source of heat, unfortunately with no notable effect. After a moment’s hesitation, the gloved hands were held up to the nearest, strongest source of warmth that laid within a single, large fireplace that took up a fair amount of space within the common room.

“I see I’m not the only one who has been nipped at by Jack Frost,” a voice stated, smooth and teasing as it overlapped the soft approach of footsteps.

“I have been ‘nipped at’ by no one.”

“Certainly not with that attitude,” Kirk muttered softly, nearly flinching at the raised brow in response. “Anyways,” he began, “I stopped by your apartment to give you something, but Scotty said he asked for the apartment for a few hours and that you’d said you’d be in the common room until then.” Kirk looked the Vulcan over, noticing the layers of clothing compiled from head to toe. “Though it looks like I just caught you, so fate must be in our favor.” Pulling a backpack off of his shoulder, he unzipped it and reached in, shuffling through the contents before pulling out a candy cane donning a blue bow. “Candy gram delivery for one Mister Spock.” Kirk grinned, holding out the gift.

Spock looked at the candy cane and back to Kirk. “You are aware that I do not consume sizable amounts of sugar.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “First off, it’s not from me, Spock. I’m just the deliveryman. Second, It’s not an actual candy cane, so there isn’t any sugar to worry about.”

With a moment’s consideration, Spock slipped off his gloves and took hold of the gift. His eyes scanned it curiously, turning it over in his hands and pausing at the sight of a small white button. He pressed down on it, a point extending from the straight end of the candy cane.

“It’s a stylus for your PADD. It can sync to any screen, actually, and has a precision tip. And, to top it off, it can store a decent amount of files as well.”

“Interesting.” Spock admitted, reaching into his pack and pulling out his PADD.

“As much as I’d love to stick around, I have to go deliver the rest of these candy grams before Sam gets here.”

“He is your brother, correct?”  
  
Kirk nodded as he zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “And it turns out I’ve got a third nephew now-Peter-who I can’t wait to meet, so you’ll have to excuse my hurrying.”

Standing up, Kirk grinned again at the stylus in Spock’s hands. “Now, you better use that stylus, Spock. I helped our doctor friend pick it out for you, after all.”

“Doctor?” Spock inquired.

“Oh-just a slip of the tongue.” Kirk feigned innocence. “Have a good break, Spock.”

Spock nodded as Kirk walked away, whistling. He returned his focus to the stylus and PADD in his hands, pulling out his older, battered one that came along with it. Although the new stylus’ colorful and hooked design was not useful nor particularly appealing, the features themselves could certainly provide some assistance in Spock’s studies.

Admittedly, Spock was curious exactly who the bestower of this gift was. In Spock's experience, the only persons he deduced regarded him well enough to give him a gift would be his roommate, Mr. Scott, Professor Pike, and cadet Kirk. To his knowledge, the only medical students he had met more than once outside of his TA position were his neighbors Cadet M’Benga(who Spock had seen leaving campus the day before) and his and Kirk’s mutual friend, cadet McCoy, who appeared to dislike Spock upon first meeting him-something the Vulcan had long since been accustomed to.

That being said, it seemed illogical that cadet McCoy would present him with this gift, however he appeared to be the only viable option-save for a person whose presence Spock is unaware of, yet would regard the Vulcan enough to present him with this gift. Certainly that option was more logical than a man who seemed to wish to challenge every utterance Spock made in his presence.

However, the challenges cadet McCoy made, although often lacking logical standpoint(and verbal coherence, at times), were usually intriguing topics for debate that Spock found himself particularly indulged in, if only one sidedly, when discussing them with the doctor. He would not be adverse to another debate with McCoy, though he doubted the other man thought similarly.

As the hourly bell echoed just outside the common room, Spock noted that two hours still remained until the appointed time in which Mr. Scott would be finished with his “date” at their apartment. Plenty of time to get accustomed to his new stylus and do some work as he waited. Slipping back on his gloves for additional warmth, Spock set to work, ready to go up to their apartment the moment his roommate calls.


	2. Locked Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Merry Christmas everyone!!! This is part 1 of a special TWO chapter update! Because I wanted to get it done for Christmas, this is the un-beta'd version, and thus will be updated when my beta is available after the holidays. Enjoy!!!)

At ten past midnight, Spock finally put away his PADD in his pack, carefully tucking away his new unattractive yet admittedly useful stylus into one of the thin outer pockets. It had been ten minutes past the appointed time at which his roommate was supposed to call, which was the extension of the allotted time that Spock said he would give Mr. Scott if he was running late. 

He pulled his communicator out of his pocket and, flicking it open, dispatched a call to his roommate's device. Spock sat through eight tones before being directed to the man's answering system, in which he left a short message stating that he was returning to the room.

With a quick tug of his knit cap, Spock slung the long strap of his pack over one shoulder and stood, smoothing out the bottom of his coat before moving to leave the common room and it’s additional warmth. Quietly walking through the lobby, Spock paused before approaching the automatic doors that led into the cold, brisk night. His muscles tensed as he passed through the vestibule, the frigid air hitting him and immediately biting at his still sore cheeks. 

When Spock viewed the climate of San Francisco before coming here, the temperatures seemed just low enough to leave Spock in colder weather than he preferred for a majority of the year. However, it was a logical exchange regarding Starfleet Academy’s reputation. 

Still, that did not mean Spock had become accustomed to the winter months. The temperatures that remained above the freezing level of water  earlier in the year now found themselves dropping to below freezing temperatures as the winter solstice arrived. It just happened to be that he was forced outside on the coldest night of the year thus far.

Spock briefly looked up at the sky as he made his way across the courtyard in the direction of his apartment. It was at times much like this that he greatly desired warmth-though not just any warmth would adequately suffice. Though he would not admit to it, the warmth he desired was one that carried a sentiment of times long past, of another planet and another internal warmth there that surpassed mere temperature. 

But, those days had come and gone. There was no logic in looking back at them now, nor seeking something he knew he could no longer have physically close to him. Thus, shoving his frigid hands deep into his pockets, Spock continued on his way to his apartment, awaiting relief from the cold air that enveloped the academy’s grounds. 

Once arrived at the complex his apartment was in, Spock ascended the stairs to the second floor. He exited the stairwell, a gust of cold wind rushing through the open air corridor; one that sent a heavy chill to the Vulcan’s bones. Fighting off the urge to shudder, Spock looked down the hall to his apartment, where light flooded the corridor from their front window. Patches of light shone where ice and salt had collected along the path, leading up to a rather measurable length of ice just outside his apartment door.

With a long breath of air that was not unakin to a sigh, Spock carefully walked down the line of doors and stopped a few feet before his own, observing the ice below. He had nearly slipped on the ice when leaving earlier, and the salt he had laid down then did not seem to have overly assisted in melting the ice, as it was still mainly intact. 

Stepping carefully, Spock maneuvered so that he was standing where the ice was the thinnest and thus allowed him the most traction. The lack of traction on icy surfaces was another additive to the lengthy list of reasons why Spock disliked cold weather. The fact of there existing a sport out of it was something Spock had yet to fully comprehend.

Removing his keycard from his front pocket, Spock gently slid it through the reader posted on his door. The door buzzed, the small indicator light turning yellow, signaling that the swipe was not read. Spock reluctantly removed his glove that was both too bulky and lacking the proper grip to accurately swipe his card through this increasingly sensitive device. It appeared that with each passing day the swipes had to be more and more accurately performed, a problem that he would need to report to the complex’s maintenance once the vacation was over.

Sliding the card again(this time as accurately as he was able), he finally heard the door unlatch. Beyond prepared to surround himself by the warm air of his apartment, he pressed on the door to open it.

But it didn’t budge.

Spock pressed again, this time harder, but the door did not move by more than a quarter of an centimeter. The reader was green, meaning the door was indeed unlocked. However it still refused to budge. As the door was very slightly warm to the touch, Spock ruled out the possibility of the door being frozen. The logical conclusion then appeared to be that something was blocking the door from behind. The further question was what it was blocking the door, and why it was there. 

After a few silent moments following sizably loud knocks on the door, Spock took his communicator out of his pocket and dispatched another call to his roommate’s device. Although Spock could hear the device’s muffled sounds just beyond the door, the call rang through when no one answered. 

To say this was a peculiar turn of events was an understatement. While he had only been rooming with Mr. Scott for a few months now, he had known the man for fourteen months total, and had not seen any such behavior exhibited before. Indeed, the man was certainly prone to acting rather odd when heavily inebriated, however nothing to this extent. Yet.

With another accurate swipe and hefty push that failed to yield positive results, Spock retired that method of action and instead moved to the kitchen window. Peering through the semi-translucent curtains that hung before the window, Spock searched for any sign of Mr. Scott or Cadet Uhura, with whom the engineer had been spending his time tonight. 

At last he spotted both his roommate and Cadet Uhura lying together on the couch, seemingly sound asleep. Their slumber must indeed be deep if neither of them awoke to the communicator that Spock could plainly see sitting on the table beside them. If only the angle allowed Spock to see what was blocking the door, then he could decide whether exerting more force upon the door would be profitable or not.

“Didn’t take you much for the spying type, Mr. Spock,” A voice called out from near the starwell.

Spock turned to see Jim’s aforementioned friend and his neighbor, Doctor McCoy, closing the door to the stairwell with a facial expression that Spock has come to recognize as “smug”.

“I am not spying, doctor,” Spock began, turning to face the man. “My roommate is inside. However, he and Cadet Uhura appear to be sleeping heavily to the point that they are unresponsive to the communicator’s alerts when I call them.”

Mccoy blinked. “Dont’cha have your key?”

“I do,” Spock stated, retrieving the keycard from his pocket and holding it up for the doctor to see. “There appears to be something blocking the door from the inside. The door will unlock, but it will not open. I have already attempted exerting some force, however it will not move more than a quarter of a centimeter.”

McCoy raised a brow in disbelief. “Even with your crazy Vulcan strength?”

“The lack of traction due to the ice outside the door is preventing me from exerting my full strength.”

“Well, why don’t we both try?” Mccoy offered, setting his bag down beside his own apartment’s door. “Two bodies are better than one, an’ all that.”

Spock contemplated the man’s offer and found it the best possible option given the current situation. “Very well,” Spock accepted, setting his own bag down under the window and moving over to his door, the doctor following suit.

“Alright, so,” Mccoy began, planting his feet as best he could on the thin sections of ice. “Swipe your card, and then we’ll both push.” 

Resisting the will to point out that was the obvious choice and order of action, Spock nodded and carefully set his feet into the spots they were in before. He lined up his card again to accurately swipe and awaited the doctor’s signal.

McCoy nodded and Spock slid the card through the reader, the light showing green as both he and the doctor began to push heavily against the door.

“My god, what did they put behind here, a starship?” McCoy complained as he pushed harder than he was expecting to. Spock again resisted commenting on the ludicrousy of the doctor’s choice of phrases. As they both strained, the door began to budge little by little, and within mere moments it would clear the doorframe.

“Almost got it cracked open...” McCoy grunted, once again stating the obvious. The doctor adjusted his foothold for better grip and, just as they were making progress, slipped on the ice below, taking Spock down with him. 


	3. This Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Merry Christmas everyone!!! This is part 2 of a special TWO chapter update! Because I wanted to get it done for Christmas, this is the un-beta'd version, and thus will be updated when my beta is available after the holidays. Enjoy!!!)

A number of expletives escaped the doctor’s mouth as they crashed to the icy floor; Spock impressed at both the number and variety of colorful words the doctor could string together in a mere few seconds.

A surge of pain shot from Spock’s hand when he fell. Once he regained himself, the Vulcan carefully removed himself from where he fell atop the doctor’s back. “Are you alright, doctor?”

“Let’s not do that again,” McCoy groaned and let out a cough as he forced himself to his knees. He stretched and touched the right side of his jaw, where a line of red was now smudged down his jawline. McCoy swore as he touched it again to make sure it wasn’t bleeding too much. The proper medical procedure.

“Are you alright, Spo-” McCoy began, halting when he saw the Vulcan’s right hand. They keycard Spock had been holding was now broken in pieces, shards of it sticking out of the man’s palm.

McCoy hurried to his feet, nearly slipping again, and pulled Spock up with him by his wrist before changing to lead him by his elbow. The touch, however brief, alerted Spock to McCoy’s thoughts before he had a chance to raise his guard. A rush of worry, stress and fear flowed from the doctor to the Vulcan, the strong emotions throwing the Vulcan off momentarily.

The doctor carefully maneuvered around the patches of ice and went to his door, pulling his own key out from his pocket and swiping it haphazardly. The light turned green after the first swipe and Spock, who was being dragged inside, felt a twitch of irritation at the miracuality of this door’s reader.

Not taking the time to even shut the door behind them, McCoy pulled Spock into the small kitchen and led him to the table, where he ordered him to take a seat. Spock obeyed and watched the doctor as he swiftly scrubbed up to his wrists with hot water and then patted them dry with paper towels. He then reached underneath the sink for a large box that Spock presumed to be an emergency aid kit.

“Any allergies you know of?” McCoy questioned as he brought it over to the table and set it down. He swiftly flipped the kit open and retrieved the items he required, setting them aside.

“None that I am aware,” Spock replied immediately. “However my wound is not so serious-”

The doctor’s eyes jerked up to meet his with an uncharacteristically serious glare. “I’ll decide that, so kindly sit down and shut up.”

Spock closed his mouth obediently, deciding to relent in commenting that he was indeed already sitting down.

“If we leave it unattended for too long, there’s a chance of infection,” McCoy continued, “And that’s another battle on it’s own.”

Fishing out two disposable grey latex gloves from the kit, McCoy snapped them on, followed by a second pair of blue gloves that Spock had seen used at Terran hospitals before. McCoy took out a small towel and a long, rolled up piece of cloth and placed it on the table, flicking his wrist so the cloth unrolled to reveal a variety of metal instruments. It was apparent that this kit had extra items added in to suit their owner’s ability.

“Put your right hand down on the towel, and use your left to pull the lamp on the other edge of the table closer,” McCoy spoke as he picked out specific instruments from the roll and set them aside.

Spock obeyed and reached over to the intriguingly ornate desk lamp, pulling it close enough that the lamp head was right over Spock’s hand.

McCoy waved his hand over the lamp and it turned on, the doctor then using his uncovered wrist to adjust the lamp’s head to the ideal angle. “Alright, here we go,” He warned Spock.

The warning gave Spock the ample split second it took to raise his guard before the doctor reached out and touched his hand.

It was warm.

The first direct touch of warmth that Spock had experienced in the past half an hour, and the Vulcan relaxed into it. His hand visibly relaxed as the doctor held his hand still and began to remove the largest piece of shrapnel. The pain slowly began to register again as the piece was removed, but Spock forced that down as soon as it arose again.

He could feel the warmth, the pain, yet he felt no instance of the doctor’s mind reaching his through the touch. Even with his guard up, Spock would still feel something there, something that told him another mind was indeed present.

But now, unlike moments before, there was nothing.

Spock hesitantly began to lower his mental guard bit by bit, and with each bit he still found that he felt no trace of the doctor’s mind. He raised a brow curiously to that effect.

“The gloves are laced with a micro-layer of aluminum,” McCoy offered as if he expected the Vulcan’s raised brow. “Ever since M’Benga’s internship on Vulcan, he insists we have at least a box of them in our apartment, on the off chance we needed them.” McCoy carefully moved another large piece of shrapnel from Spock’s wound and set it aside, next to the other piece. “Never imagined we would have Vulcan living beside us, though.”

Spock looked to the doctor as he worked, careful consideration and rigid focus apparent through the man’s expression. If there was something Spock never doubted when it came to the doctor, it was the man’s exemplary attention and drive for his work. There was a reason that he was placed at the top of his field in their class, much like Spock and Kirk were in their own respective fields. Despite their usual bickering and debates, Spock truthfully held the man in high regard.

“Your cut is still bleeding, Doctor,” Spock commented as a drop of red blood fell from the man’s chin to the table.

“S’ just a scratch,” McCoy replied monotonously, as if he had said this many times before. “Once it clots, the blood will stop. Shouldn’t be long no-hey!” McCoy nearly flinched as Spock picked up a sterilized pad and gently pressed it to the doctor’s wound.

“If you leave it too long, there is a chance of infection,” Spock quoted the doctor.

He looked up at Spock, whose gaze was unwavering and rolled his eyes. “Using my own words against me.” He mumbled with a sigh. “Alright, fine... Thank you.” Was all he added before heading back to work.

Spock felt his thumb twitch as a spark of pain crept up his hand along the wound.

“Sorry,” McCoy apologized, halting his hands and grabbing a small sterile pad to wipe away the blood around the wound. “This is gonna sting.” He warned as he tenderly dabbed at the edges of the wound. After replacing the sterile pad with a small white cloth, he grabbed a small scanner from the kit and waved it over Spock’s hand.

“I managed to get all the shards out, and looks like your cut’s not too deep, but it’s gonna take some time to heal, still.” Setting the scanner to the side, McCoy readjusted his grip on Spock’s hand. “You’re lucky it didn’t get farther in, or you would have had some serious damage.”

Spock looked over at the doctor as he paused momentarily before taking out the bandage that would hold the cloth tight to his hand.

“The cloth will help fuse the skin faster,” McCoy began as he started to wrap the bandage. “But I still want you to get it properly checked out to be sure.”

Spock considered the doctor for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “I am well aware of the level of your medical abilities, doctor. If I was not, I would not have so willingly proceeded with this.”

McCoy faltered slightly in his wrapping, the man’s face appearing to obtain a pink tint. “Yeah, well,” McCoy cleared his throat. “Regardless of my skill, there’s equipment there that can check your wound better than what I have with me. So, doctor’s orders.” He added as he finished wrapping Spock’s hand and cut the end of the bandage.

“Very well.” Spock resigned, turning his gaze back to his freshly wrapped hand. The pain seemed to grow with the added pressure of the bandage, however it remained within agreeable levels.

“Oh, one last thing,” McCoy got up and went to a nearby drawer, where he pulled out a thin spool of sorts. He returned to the table and sat down, unwinding a light blue ribbon from the spool and measuring it out against Spock’s hand. He cut the ribbon at the desired length and wrapped it around Spock’s wrist, tying the two ends together in a rather simple yet ornate bow.

“It’s a gift, since blue is rather fitting for you,” McCoy grinned and took Spock’s hand in both of his, carefully turning it over and inspecting it to make sure the bandages and bow were both secure.

“A story my pap told me is that you positive feeling into bows when you tie ‘em, and when it unties, the feeling is returned to you.” McCoy chuckled. “Though, the meaning may be lost on you, Spock, since it’s an emotional sentiment. You can simply think of it as human illogic, and take it off whenever you like.” He gently pressed on parts of the bandage that needed the added pressure and, once he was satisfied, let go of the Vulcan’s hand entirely.

By the time he was done, a slight green tint had colored a silent Spock’s cheeks, and it wasn’t from the cold air blowing into the apartment via the still open door.

“Ah, um, Spock,” McCoy began as he put away his unused items and pointedly avoided eye contact with the Vulcan. “I’ll go see if Scotty and Uhura are awake, but on the chance that they aren’t, you’re free to stay here for the night. We have a spare bed, and it’s much more comfortable than going to sit in the common room all night... Plus I’d like to check up on your hand tomorrow morning to make sure it didn’t get infected, and that you didn’t get sick from the freezing cold. So, being here saves me time.”

Spock peeled his eyes away from his new wrist decoration and contemplated the offer in his head, running over the advantages and disadvantages to staying here versus returning to the common room, as McCoy had correctly guessed.

“I’ll go check up on them, so you think about it.” McCoy said as he stood and went to the front door, closing it behind him to reserve heat while he was gone.

The advantages to remaining here obviously outweighed the disadvantages, so there was not much to ponder about. Other thoughts had been occupying his mind since his arrival, in fact. Spock brushed his fingers over the bow that was neatly tied around his wrist, and could still feel the tingling warmth of the doctor’s hands on his own.

Spock’s cheeks burned, a distinctly different feeling than the stinging the cold air gave them. His cheeks burned and his throat was tight and his chest light as a feather. Such odd reactions his body had, unlike anything he had yet experienced.

Perhaps he had caught a cold after all.

Whatever ailment it may be, the logical response is to fully regain his normal body temperature primarily, and assess it after that.

“It seems they’re out like a light.” McCoy stated as he walked back inside, carrying a bag in each hand; one his and one the doctor’s. Shutting the door, McCoy set his own bag down and walked over to him, holding out the bag for the Vulcan to take. “So, do ya’ want to stay?”

It was not necessarily a matter if Spock wanted to stay or not, but rather which was the logical choice.

The answer to both questions just happened to be the same.

Spock took ahold of his bag and stood up, facing the doctor. “If it is not an imposition, remaining here appears to be the logical choice. Where is your guest bed located?”

“Not at all. It’s the least I could do after I knocked you down, even if it was unintentional,” McCoy let out a nervous chuckle and turned to his right, leading spock the few feet to the living room.

“It’s right in here,” He stated as he pressed a button on the wall that caused the couch cushions to separate and reveal a large, folded mattress underneath. The bed unfolded and sat itself down, taking up a majority of the space within the living room. “Feel free to put your bag down anywhere. I’ll go grab you some spare blankets from the closet.”

Spock nodded and set his bag down, using this time to make sure that all of his belongings were in order. He paused as he peered into the front pocket, the bow from the stylus he received earlier in the day an exact match to the on around his wrist, in both color and tie.

“Here’s a few thinner ones,” McCoy spoke up as he carried a stack of blankets into the room and set them down on the ground beside the bed. He began to unfold each one and flap them out so they lay neatly on the bed, Spock helping to adjust the corners when necessary. “I have one more for ya’ too. Oh, do ya need a change of clothes?”

“My current clothes will be sufficient for the night.”

“Alright. I’ll go finish cleaning up and get ready for bed myself. I’ll bring the last blanket out when it’s ready.”

Ready? Spock questioned, but before he could ask, the doctor was already busy cleaning up the used items of the emergency aid kit and wiping the table down thoroughly.

Spock took off his shoes and placed them by the front door along with his coat, placing it right beside the doctor’s on the rack. Returning to the bed, Spock sat down and pulled out his PADD to review some files while he waited for the doctor to finish. Oddly enough, Spock couldn’t fully focus on his task at hand, however relaxing it may be.

Within minutes the doctor had returned with his own cut bandaged, bearing a large, puffy blanket, asking Spock to get up off the bed so he could lay it out. Spock assisted him and, upon touching the blanket, instinctively withdrew his hand at the hot touch.

“Oh, careful. It may be a bit hot for you right now, but give it a minute or two and it should be good.”

“A thermal blanket?” Spock inquired.

“Sort of,” McCoy explained as he spread out the blanket on the bed. “In short, I’m a lot like you when it comes to disliking the cold, so my nan made me this when I was younger. You simply plug it in for a few minutes, and it’ll warm up to the desired temperature. The fabric and batting holds the heat well, so it should least for a few hours, at least.” He added as he finished smoothing out the blanket’s edges. “There, that should do it.”

“You...” Spock began, hesitant. “Do not need to go to such lengths, doctor. I am easily accommodated.”

“Don’t forget that you’re my patient, Spock.” McCoy smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll take care of you the best I can in order to ensure your effective and speedy recovery. So, doctor’s orders.”

“I believe you are enjoying this authoritative position over me, doctor,” Spock observed, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.” McCoy shot back, grinning. With a yawn, McCoy looked over at the clock, noticing it read just past one-thirty AM. “Speaking of dreaming, looks like it’s time to turn in. G’night, Spock.”

“Good night, Doctor.” Spock replied as he watched the man leave the living room for the comfort of his own bed.

Testing out his own bed and finding the temperature of the comforter now adequate, Spock quietly slipped under the multiple layers of covers and let the warmth wash over him. The feeling covered his body from head to toe, gently pushing away every last chill in his body-down to his bones. The comforter was old, as Spock could tell from the scent that vaguely reminded him of dust and age, but it was not unpleasant. To the contrary, this warmth that enveloped his whole body reminded him of the hot days on Vulcan, where the even the shade was hot, yet never overbearingly so.

And, underneath this physical warmth, Spock found a trickle of another non physical warmth that flowed in his chest, the source of what had been making it feel light.

But before Spock was able to investigate further, he found himself lapsing into a very deep slumber.

Deeper than he had experienced in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I wrote this last December, and this was originally planned for multiple parts that I haven't gotten around to yet. I do hope to write them as we approach Christmas and winter comes along! The work's title will make more sense then. haha.


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